Listening to a story told to me by a very old man called Willie O Hammerfield, on a very stormy night, in their house which was nearly on the edge of the cliff, on the Orcadian island of Rousay, where I was brought up. There were dried fish hanging from the rafters and his wife Mabel had made scones. I was sat on the floor eating the scone and drinking lemonade. The story was a legend about selkies (seals who can be human on land.) and there and then I had my idea for Suleskerry, five books in the series later, still not published but getting there. Oh, I was about six then and now I`m blah blah blah blah. lol
The Royal Free Hospital, London, acutely in need of a transplant, my then five year old grand daughter asked me if I was going to die, not just yet my reply, she smiled and said I love you, I then knew I had a ‘love’ story in me, I got better, for reasons to this day unknown, nor organ required, the one I have doing just fine.
In my job similar to that of a reading tutor, I was working with a group of third graders, and I still had two more groups to go before a break. I knew the idea would be my book the second it hit me, and I had to repeat it to myself until I could get somewhere to write it down.
Half asleep, in bed.
I wrote the entire thing in my head, in bed…then finally after a year, went and bought an iPad. I figured if I wrote it down it would stop waking me up. Not the case.
E6
I wasn’t writing but my first story memory, I was three or four maybe, it was early in the morning, I was the only one awake. I was sitting in the living room on a big 70s bean bag chair, holding my cat and telling her a story. She kept struggling to get away, I can’t blame her. Who wants to be squeezed to death by a small child. LOL. But I wouldn’t let her go until the story was finished.
I spent a year as an American living on the west coast of Ireland. Everything was experienced through the scrim of my American frame of reference, which called much into question, to say the least. It was beyond cultural differences; there seemed to me to be a different collective consciousness between the Irish and Americans, in that the Irish approach the vagaries of life from a different premise than Americans, and so much of it has to do with their particular history. And oh, the Irish music and the pastoral setting, which dictates so much of the insular, Irish way of life. I kept a daily journal, while living in Ireland, and knew when I returned to America that therein lay a true-to-life story that depicted the real Ireland, as opposed to the image many have of it. Therefore, it wasn’t a stretch to divine a story; I simply took my journal and crafted a novel titled Dancing to an Irish Reel.
I remember reading one of my brother’s old comic books in 1st grade. It was a Casper the Friendly Ghost comic that had Casper falling into a hole and going to an alternate world. I was fascinated by this idea and started writing my own comic book about a Giant that somehow ended up in a world of regular sized humans and had to adjust. Fast forward about 45 years and I published my first short story. I’m a late bloomer.
My debut story Alice Had a Palace, grew with me as a child. It was my life, and my mother’s childhood stories that spurred me on to write them. I would ask her over and over again, to tell me one or the other of her memories. They fascinated me as a child, and still do today. Thus the story was born. It resonated with me that I had to tell someone the stories so they could write the book. I just knew it had to be told. Finally my daughter said to me. Mom, why don’t you try and write the story? At her suggestion, I sat at my computer, and my fingers started flying across the keyboard. They have not stopped. A story was born, and the writer in me realized. The best day of my life.
At home in Barcelona… on a rainy day. It was April, and I was alone looking at a great yard through the window; ideas started flowing like the storm outside. It was great!
33 replies on “Do You Remember Where You Were When…”
sitting in my first grade classroom, i wrote a story about a royal romance )
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Nice!
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Listening to a story told to me by a very old man called Willie O Hammerfield, on a very stormy night, in their house which was nearly on the edge of the cliff, on the Orcadian island of Rousay, where I was brought up. There were dried fish hanging from the rafters and his wife Mabel had made scones. I was sat on the floor eating the scone and drinking lemonade. The story was a legend about selkies (seals who can be human on land.) and there and then I had my idea for Suleskerry, five books in the series later, still not published but getting there. Oh, I was about six then and now I`m blah blah blah blah. lol
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Wow. I love that you remember so much detail!
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The Royal Free Hospital, London, acutely in need of a transplant, my then five year old grand daughter asked me if I was going to die, not just yet my reply, she smiled and said I love you, I then knew I had a ‘love’ story in me, I got better, for reasons to this day unknown, nor organ required, the one I have doing just fine.
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Wowwww!!!
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In my job similar to that of a reading tutor, I was working with a group of third graders, and I still had two more groups to go before a break. I knew the idea would be my book the second it hit me, and I had to repeat it to myself until I could get somewhere to write it down.
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That’s awesome. How long was it before you could write it down?
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Like three hours.
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Ha. Wow.
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Half asleep, in bed.
I wrote the entire thing in my head, in bed…then finally after a year, went and bought an iPad. I figured if I wrote it down it would stop waking me up. Not the case.
E6
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Why does that not surprise me?
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You can dream up the best sex chapters…in bed. I’m just saying. Lol.
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Probably in the bathroom when I was 3 haha
I would get so bored I would make up stories
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How funny!
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Reblogged this on mariemccloskeyblog and commented:
I love this question because my answer is “In the Bathroom” haha
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Not a clue. Not only that, I have no recollection of when/where I started writing it. Am I the only writer who has had this experience??
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Nope. I did.
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I wasn’t writing but my first story memory, I was three or four maybe, it was early in the morning, I was the only one awake. I was sitting in the living room on a big 70s bean bag chair, holding my cat and telling her a story. She kept struggling to get away, I can’t blame her. Who wants to be squeezed to death by a small child. LOL. But I wouldn’t let her go until the story was finished.
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Cat stories. Could become a thing.
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LOL.
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I spent a year as an American living on the west coast of Ireland. Everything was experienced through the scrim of my American frame of reference, which called much into question, to say the least. It was beyond cultural differences; there seemed to me to be a different collective consciousness between the Irish and Americans, in that the Irish approach the vagaries of life from a different premise than Americans, and so much of it has to do with their particular history. And oh, the Irish music and the pastoral setting, which dictates so much of the insular, Irish way of life. I kept a daily journal, while living in Ireland, and knew when I returned to America that therein lay a true-to-life story that depicted the real Ireland, as opposed to the image many have of it. Therefore, it wasn’t a stretch to divine a story; I simply took my journal and crafted a novel titled Dancing to an Irish Reel.
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Amazing
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In the bathtub where I do my most creative thinking. I have to add bubbles of course.
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Ya gotta have bubbles.
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I remember reading one of my brother’s old comic books in 1st grade. It was a Casper the Friendly Ghost comic that had Casper falling into a hole and going to an alternate world. I was fascinated by this idea and started writing my own comic book about a Giant that somehow ended up in a world of regular sized humans and had to adjust. Fast forward about 45 years and I published my first short story. I’m a late bloomer.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Awesome.
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My debut story Alice Had a Palace, grew with me as a child. It was my life, and my mother’s childhood stories that spurred me on to write them. I would ask her over and over again, to tell me one or the other of her memories. They fascinated me as a child, and still do today. Thus the story was born. It resonated with me that I had to tell someone the stories so they could write the book. I just knew it had to be told. Finally my daughter said to me. Mom, why don’t you try and write the story? At her suggestion, I sat at my computer, and my fingers started flying across the keyboard. They have not stopped. A story was born, and the writer in me realized. The best day of my life.
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That’s awesome!
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Probably at home, months after burying my best friend of 37 years. I helped do her makeup for her funeral and wrote a story about it. It was published on Every Day Fiction – http://everydayfiction.com/makeup-artist-by-sheila-mcintyre-good/
@sheilamgood at Cow Pasture Chronicles
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That had to be tough. Thanks for sharing.
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At home in Barcelona… on a rainy day. It was April, and I was alone looking at a great yard through the window; ideas started flowing like the storm outside. It was great!
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Awesome!
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